The Color White and Sweet Salvation
by Fictionista 48
Summary: The color white isn't always as innocent as it seems. *Chapters 3 & 4 are M RATED!* Heed the warning.
1. Chapter 1

**I had some free time, and decided to let these two run wild for a change. After everything I've done to them in Human Sacrifice, they deserve it. I was asked to do something funny when I got the chance, and since I don't usually do lighthearted stuff, I thought I'd try my hand at it. Obviously I don't own the characters. They're just fun to play with. I look forward to hearing what you all think, so review if you feel moved to do so! Reviews=Love. Enjoy!**

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><p>It had been one of <em>those <em>cases. The ones she hates, the ones where she's expected to put on some ridiculously tight, obscenely short dress, and stiletto heels, obviously designed by an all male stilt-making company. How it's supposed to be possible to chase down a suspect in those things, she has no idea. But, she does, more often than not, and she isn't sure how that's possible, either.

Regardless, she gets the job done. She destroys the dress and the heels in the process, and is forced to face the wrath of Hetty back at the Mission, but she gets the job done.

Almost worse than dealing with her operations manager, was dealing with her perverted, annoying-ass partner. He'd been on her nerves the entire case, and today was the final straw. She doesn't know what the hell was wrong with him, why he'd been so overly obnoxious today, but he was, and she was ready to strangle him. He hadn't shut up the entire case, hadn't let her alone for a minute. He'd even stood outside the dressing room as she'd poured herself into that tiny white mini-dress and matching stilettos.

She knew white was a bad idea, right from the start. Between dirt and grime, the possibility of blood spatter, and the decent chance she'd end up in water somehow, she wanted nothing to do with the snowy-white garment. And she was right. She'd ended up being grabbed by the suspect, and thrown onto the filthy ground. She had punched him in the face twice to get him off of her, and blood dripped all over the front of her dress. And then there was the water.

The only merciful thing about the whole event was the fact that this time, she wasn't tossed into a chilly swimming pool, or forced to tackle a suspect into a freezing fountain. No, this time, she was knocked into a hot tub, which only added ammunition to Deeks' arsenal of smart-ass remarks. As she had stepped out of the hot water into the cold night air, wearing the thin, strapless sheath of clingy, now transparent fabric, he had gotten a private show he'll likely never forget. Or let her live down.

The look on his face as he'd realized he could see everything, had been one of shock, then appreciation, then lust. And the idiot couldn't stop staring. It had taken more self-control than she thought she had left, not to punch him in the eye and blind him. He had snapped out of it and handed her his jacket, halfheartedly apologizing for staring, but the damage was done. She wanted to kill him.

There are times she finds him cute. Lots of times, actually. There are even times she catches herself staring or thinking mildly inappropriate thoughts about him. She always stores them away, though, like so many other things she keeps locked up inside herself. Sure, he's cute. Sure, he's got a nice body. Sure, he's got those damned blue eyes that just unravel her. But he's her partner, and annoying as hell. Any warm, tingly feelings she might have for him, she shuts down immediately. And today, that wasn't hard to do.

He'd eaten the last donut, screwed up her coffee, and then spilled his on her desk. He'd gotten ink on her shirt, and then made comments about her taking it off so he could fix it. He'd driven, because she was too pissed to be trusted behind the wheel. He'd gone too slow, and had made her listen to that crap he listens to, and had never shut up. And that was all before noon. The rest of the day had gone no better; the climax coming this evening with her climbing out of that damned hot tub, wearing that damn see-through dress.

Now, she's at home, sipping a much-deserved beer, watching mindless reality TV. It's late, and she should be asleep, but she has to come down first, and let herself unwind. Deeks had invited her out with him for drinks, but she had had enough of him today, and knew that one more lurid comment or glance at her chest, and she'd knock him of his barstool. So, instead of inviting disaster, she'd come home. A pint of ice cream and three beers later, and she's beginning to feel the day recede. Mercifully, she's heard nothing from her partner since they left work. Part of her – a very small part – misses him. Just a little. He adds something to her existence, whether she wants to admit it or not. Humor, goofiness, spontaneity. Not really things she needs at twelve-thirty on a work night.

The phone chimes, indicating a text, and she knows it can only be one person. _Damn. So close_.

_Got a crazy one. Please come rescue me. U owe me, remember?_

Yes, she's sure she'll never be allowed to forget. She hadn't wanted to make a scene that night, and knock the guy out, but he just wouldn't take the hint. She had texted Deeks, and he'd come to save her, pretending to be her boyfriend. She hadn't let him do more than wrap a rather possessive arm around her, although she knew he'd be more than happy to kiss her to drive the point home to the guy. Part of her really wanted him to. The logical part won out, though, and had shut him down after a hug.

She taps out a quick response, aggravated at being disturbed. _After today, I should let u fend 4 urself._

Within minutes, comes his response. _Not my fault u weren't wearing a bra. Now, come save me._

_Not helping ur case any. Try begging._

_Picture me on my knees. Please. Please. Please. I'll buy you a beer. And coffee tomorrow._

She smiles, and types back, _And donuts. And lunch._

_Done. Get here soon!_

This is truly the last thing she wants to do right now. Another beer and a soft pillow, maybe, but not this. Resigning herself to the fact that she can't get out of it, she gets up and gets dressed, throws on what little makeup she can bare to put on, and heads out. Glancing in the rearview mirror, she has to admit she looks pretty good. Then, a smile comes to her face as an idea takes hold. This might not be so bad after all.

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><p>He's sitting at the bar, lost in thought. Today had been one of <em>those<em> days. The case had sucked, and the only one able to really do anything to catch the guy was Kensi, because, well, she's hot, and men respond to her. In all sorts of ways. She can get almost any information out of any man, with just the set of her mouth, or the quirk of a perfectly arched eyebrow. And if that doesn't work, flashing a little cleavage, or part of a thigh gets the job done nearly every time.

He knows she hates that part of the job. Falling back on her sexuality to distract or trap a suspect is her least favorite method. She'd far rather beat them into submission, or shoot at them. But with her body and her looks, violence isn't always necessary. It usually ends up that way anyhow, but being ridiculously sexy works wonders. And today, she was off the charts sexy. That outfit Hetty chose for the mission was indescribable. White isn't really a color he's ever associated with sexiness or seduction. After today, his mind's been changed.

He knows he drove her mad all day. He consumed far too much caffeine, had far too much sugar, and had skipped his morning surf to be in early. All that combined, equaled way too much pent-up nervous energy. He really did try, but he couldn't seem to shut up. And he saw exactly what it was doing to his partner. Still, he just couldn't stop annoying her. Between the paper wads lobbed onto her desk (he was aiming for her cleavage), and the incessant chattering, he knew she wanted to choke him.

But even with the spilled coffee, the nonstop talk, and the one goal he made with the fifteenth paper wad, nothing topped the end of the day. And he doubts anything ever will, unless she ends up stark naked somehow, during a future case. Not likely, but a man can hope. Seeing her step out of that dressing room was like seeing a miracle happen. She was beautiful before, but this was like nothing he's ever seen. With her dark hair and eyes, the stark white of the dress was such a contrast, it was almost lurid. Pair with that, the fact that the dress barely covered anything at all, and it was damn near pornographic. The heels just took it all over the top, knocking it out of the park completely.

He'd stared like an idiot frat boy, finally tearing his gaze away when she hit him, making threats of serious bodily harm. Even then, he couldn't keep his eyes off of her, and neither could their suspect. He'd been drawn like a magnet to the tall, sexy brunette, eyeing her in a way that made Deeks' skin crawl and his blood pressure rise. She'd looked far more breakable than she was in that getup, and she proved how tough she was under all that glam when she broke the guys nose and probably shattered a few of his teeth.

It hadn't stopped him, though, and he'd thrown her off him, attempting to flee. When she'd caught him again, he'd turned on her and tried to fling her into the hotel hot tub. She had spun him around, taking him in with her, his head hitting the concrete edge and knocking him out. Game over.

And then she'd climbed out.

He was pretty sure a human heart isn't meant to take that kind of stimulation. The sight of her, soaking wet, skin flushed from the hot water, and every part of her visible through the clingy transparent dress, was better than any fantasy he's ever had, bar none. Not one thing he's ever seen could possibly compare to his gorgeous partner practically naked in front of him. She was visual Viagra; an instant stimulant, the most potent and dangerous aphrodisiac he could imagine. And she was glaring at him like a crazed serial killer.

It was at that moment that his brain function sort of returned, and he offered her his jacket. She'd snatched it away, covering herself as best she could. The drive back to OSP had been silent and awkward, with him stealing dangerous glances at her shivering in the passenger seat. She had warned him that one more look, and she'd blind him, and she hadn't sounded like she was kidding. Tiny thong panties and no bra. Who was she kidding? How could he _not _look?

So here he sits, reminiscing over the day's catastrophes. The case wrapped up successfully, but that was the only good news. She wouldn't even come out for a beer with him. He kind of feels bad for being such an ass all day, but he knows there's nothing he can do now, and by tomorrow, hopefully she'll be over it. If not, he'll ply her with sugar and caffeine, and beg for forgiveness.

He isn't in the mood for female company right now. Well, not just _any_ female company. A specific female would be fine. Somehow, he knows that tonight, no one else will do, and he's been politely ignoring the blonde sitting next to him for the past half hour. Still, she won't move on, won't stop trying to engage him in mindless conversation. She'd be pretty, he thinks, if she'd tone down the makeup. And the hair. And the clothes. Her hair is a gaudy Lady Gaga platinum, a color nonexistent in nature. Her tiny red dress leaves little to the imagination, and he finds himself imagining it on Kensi, instead.

The girl's lips are a coated in a thick, glossy red lipstick, and he can't imagine kissing that. He'd never get it off his face. Or wherever else it might end up. He shudders inwardly at the thought. He finishes his fourth beer, followed by his fourth shot, and signals for another, when she places a hand over his arm.

"I'll get it."

"Oh, no, that's okay. I'm good. Thanks."

He's distant and tries to close himself off from her, but she's persistent and won't leave him alone. He wonders if he's as annoying to Kensi as this chick is to him. God, he hopes not. She excuses herself, and comes back ten minutes later, presumably from the ladies room, wearing – if it's possible - even more gloppy red lipstick. Whatever perfume she sprayed herself with is sweet and cloying, and makes him slightly nauseous.

She's rambling on about becoming an actress or model or something, touching his arm, batting her too-black eyelashes at him. She's becoming progressively more intoxicated, swaying slightly as she adjusts herself on the barstool. He isn't ready to go home yet, but God, she's about to drive him nuts. Why is it always the crazy ones? Why couldn't it be some normal woman sitting quietly beside him, minding her own business, keeping to herself? Why couldn't it be Kensi?

_Because I pissed her off, acting like a hormonal teenager, that's why_.

Blondie leans over, getting entirely too close. He could easily see down her dress, but it isn't even tempting. He makes a reference to being taken, about his girlfriend's taste in music, about how he hopes she winds up meeting him here. It doesn't slow down Blondie in the least. _Great. One of those_.

He pulls out his phone and sends Kensi a text. Of course she doesn't want to help him. He can't blame her, really, but he's getting desperate. Besides, a really cute brunette just showed up alone, and he wouldn't mind introducing himself. Not possible with Blondie Red Lips hanging all over him. He sends another text back, and yes, he begs. He agrees to his partner's every demand. _Thank God. She'll be here soon_. Then, he begins to imagine convincing this obnoxious girl that he belongs to Kensi. A hug? A warm, loving embrace? Maybe a kiss. That would do it for sure. Actually, that would do a lot of things. He imagines her in the white dress, water dripping off her skin.

He glances at the cute brunette, who seems to be covertly checking him out. He knows he has no shot with Kensi. None. Especially after today. But he's wound up, and can't shake the need for physical contact. For release. He wonders if he's capable of substituting one woman for another. It's a scummy thing to do, and not in his character. But, it's tempting, considering how drunk he's getting, how turned on he gets every time he thinks of that thin white dress, and what was under it, and how he has no chance whatsoever of having the woman he really wants.

Blondie is prattling on about God knows what, grabbing his bicep every so often, whether to balance herself or just to feel it, he has no idea. He doesn't care. He just wishes Kensi would get here. And then she does. She walks in wearing tight little jeans and an equally tight top, and God help him. It's white. Her hair is loose around her face, tumbling down around her shoulders. She has on just the right amount of makeup, and just the barest sheen on her lips. His heart nearly stops. His phone indicates a text, and he reads it, his heart rate increasing with the words.

_Get ready. You're gonna love this._

"Hey, baby. I'm so glad you made it," he says, smiling widely, reaching for his partner.

She moves within arm's reach, and gives him the faintest smile. In it, he recognizes…_oh, no_.

Her voice is loud, rising above the music and conversation surrounding them. "_Herpes_, Tim? _Really_?" She shoves him so hard he topples backwards off his barstool, crashing to the floor, covered in beer.

Everyone around them falls silent, before laughter begins. Blondie and the cute brunette both look shocked, then disgusted as they get up and leave.

Kensi watches the women walk out, then looks down at Deeks, a self-appreciating smile on her face. "My work is done here. Have a nice night, _Tim_." She turns on her heel and strides out without a backward glance.

He watches her leave, stunned into silence. His ass hurts from the fall, and he's soaked in beer. There's a cut on his hand from the broken beer bottle, and he's pretty sure he'll catch Ebola or actual herpes or something from the filth on the floor. Worse than all that, though, is the fact that he's in his favorite bar, lying on the floor in a puddle of beer with everyone in the place fully believing he has an STD. Fantastic.

His cell buzzes with a new text.

_Next time, keep your eyes in your head. Payback's a bitch._

He gets up and returns the text. _That was really mean. I'd never do that to you._

For a while, there's no answer. He grabs his keys and gets up, ready to get the hell out of here and never show his face again. Then the phone buzzes.

_You're right. I'm outside if you want a ride. I owe you. I'm sorry._

For a moment, he thinks it's a joke. It's not like her to admit when she's wrong, or when she goes too far. He grabs a napkin and wraps it around his hand. If he bleeds all over her leather interior, she'll kill him. He walks out and sees her leaning against the SRX, her feet crossed, her hands in her back pockets. A small, apologetic smile plays across her lips.

"That wasn't funny."

She tries not to laugh. "Actually, it was."

"Yeah. Hilarious," he deadpans.

She notices the bloody napkin. "Oh, crap. Did you do that when you fell?"

"You mean when you knocked me down? Yeah."

She reaches for his hand, concern etched on her face. "Is it bad? I'm so sorry, Deeks. I never meant to actually hurt you."

He shrugs. "It's fine. My pride hurts worse. I can never go back in there again. Thanks. That was my favorite watering hole."

"Sorry. Really. I can share mine, if you want."

"Can I tell everyone there you have Gonorrhea?"

She smiles. "Only if you want me to kill you."

He feels the alcohol intensify now that he's standing up and breathing fresh air. He hopes he can keep his mouth shut and his hands to himself. "Might as well. My social life is dead now, anyway."

"You deserved it. Pig."

He looks at her, then at his feet, which seem incredibly far away. "Look, Kensi. About today…I'm really sorry. I was…I don't know. You're beautiful. You know you are, it's no secret. You know you're hot, that's why you always end up dressed like a…"

She holds up a hand. "Watch yourself, Deeks."

"Provocatively. You always end up dressed provocatively. There's a reason for that, Kens. Men respond. I responded. I can't help it if you're beautiful."

A flush of pink colors her cheeks. She clears her throat. "You're really drunk."

And getting drunker by the minute. "Hopefully, not too drunk to remember this, then." He gathers sudden courage, likely brought on by the alcohol, and leans forward, capturing her mouth with his. Part of him expects her to shove him away or hit him. But she doesn't. She opens her mouth and kisses him back, with surprising passion. When she pulls away several minutes later, he's light headed, and thinks his heart might explode.

She smiles. "You're not going to remember that."

He smiles back. "Maybe not, but _you _will."

He lets her shove him into her car and buckle him in. As she leans over him, he can see down her shirt, but thinks better of it. He's grateful for the gift he's been given, and forces himself not to screw it up. _One moment at a time, Deeks_. _Just leave it alone._

She drives him to his apartment and helps him to the door, where he decides to stop and let go of her, instead of pulling her inside. He steps in and smiles. "Thanks for the ride, partner."

"Sorry about the herpes."

They both look at each other and burst into laughter, before growing quiet.

She leans in and kisses him softly on the lips, smiling. "Have sweet dreams."

Watching her leave, he has no doubt that he will.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for the amazing response to this. I hadn't really planned on adding to it, but it seemed to be the majority vote, so here's a second chapter. Who knows, maybe there'll be a third if anyone's interested. Enjoy!**

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><p>Okay, so there was no excuse for it. None. What she did was inexcusable. He was drunk. She was not. And yet, she justifies it to herself by saying over and over that he won't remember it anyway. That he was so wasted that he'll be lucky to make it to work in the morning. She doesn't envy him the hangover he'll have in a few short hours, or the crap everyone will give him for it. She can picture it now; Callen bouncing tightly packed paper wads off his head, Sam talking at a decibel level far above his normal speaking voice. She smiles.<p>

Settling into bed, she watches the play of passing headlights on the ceiling, and thinks back to the scene at the bar. It had been priceless, really. It couldn't have gone off any better had she been planning it for days. The look on his face, as it changed from relief, to hope, to horror had been better than she expected. It _had _been a mean thing to do, but hey, he'd asked her to come get rid of the girl. He hadn't specified as to _how_ to get rid of her.

She feels a little guilty for ruining his favorite bar for him. She also feels guilty for causing him to cut his hand. And now that she thinks about it, she feels guilty for not cleaning it up and bandaging it for him. She doesn't like guilt, hates shouldering blame, even when it's entirely her fault. So, she reminds herself he had it coming all day for being such a pig. Annoying is one thing. Perverted is another. But he had apologized, hadn't he? He'd even gone so far as to say she's beautiful. Hot she's used to. Hot she gets all the time. There's just something about beautiful that gets to her. And when it comes from him, well…

He was annihilated. Tanked. There's no way he'll remember this night. That, she tells herself, is the only reason she let him kiss her. The only reason she kissed him back. The only reason she kissed him again, at his door. He'd looked so sexy all hurt and vulnerable and all. Vulnerability is not something she usually sees from her partner. He's human – well, most of the time – so he's capable of being vulnerable, and she's seen it once or twice, very briefly, but most of the time he's cocky and annoying and full of himself. And she has to admit, vulnerability looks kind of good on him. Those slightly hurt blue eyes, that pouty lower lip. And just the right amount of alcohol to keep his mind free of any memory of it. Or at least she hopes so.

She's thought about him a lot after hours. Even more so lately. With each passing week, they seem to get closer, know each other better, each learning a bit more about the other. He knows a little about her past, and she knows a little about his. Just enough is left unknown to make each something of a mystery to the other, a riddle to be unraveled, a puzzle to be solved. She has so many questions. She won't ask any of them, though, because that would be an invitation for him to ask her, and she has no desire to answer him. Just yet.

She thinks over the day and the case and that damn dress and the way he'd looked at her in it. She isn't pissed anymore, not even annoyed. She's just…what? She has no idea. Flattered? That's not it. Appreciative? No. Secretly happy that he's enamored with her? Well, that's a little closer. Turned on? Maybe. She's spent a fair amount of time thinking about him in not so innocent ways. She's had a fair amount of inappropriate thoughts about him. Even a fantasy or two. About the way he fills out his faded jeans. The way his shirt stretches over his back sometimes, as he reaches for something. Her, perhaps. That damn smile, and what she might do to evoke it. So being presented with the opportunity to experience one of the more innocent fantasies was a rare gift. One she couldn't pass up.

Granted, he was drunk. His balance was slightly off, and he was probably far more uninhibited than he would normally be. _Well, obviously. He did kiss you_. But still, he had pretty damn good command over himself. He didn't falter once he made the decision to go for it. He'd been halting at first, tentative and gentle. But once she'd opened her mouth, he hadn't hesitated to slip his tongue inside and thread his fingers into her hair. At that point, it was a matter of _what the hell, he's not going to remember it anyway_, and she'd responded in kind, allowing her own inhibitions to slip away and her tongue to explore his mouth. She'd been in no hurry to end the kiss, and apparently neither had he. In the few minutes it lasted, their breath became ragged, and her pulse began to race.

It was probably a good thing he stopped her at the front door. Self control was waning, and the more she touched him, the more he touched her, the more she can't be sure she wouldn't have gone inside and done what she's wanted to do for so long. And that would have been a disaster. If, by chance he remembers the kisses, it's one thing. An embarrassing, hard to explain thing. But sex is another mess altogether. One she isn't sure she could talk herself out of. Or if she'd even want to.

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><p>He reeks of beer and bar, and has blood and filth all over him. So, as badly as he wants to just fall into bed, he strips off his clothes and takes a shower instead. He's pretty far gone, and getting worse by the minute, and manipulating the water temperature is a real challenge. The water is scalding hot, but the anesthetic affect of the alcohol coursing through his bloodstream helps to numb him slightly. He does notice, after a few minutes, that his skin is red. Which immediately brings his mind back to early this evening, and a particularly hot brunette with similarly red skin, climbing out of a hot tub, wearing what appeared to be wet white tissue paper. He suddenly thinks he should switch to cold water.<p>

Had he really kissed her tonight? Where had he found the balls to do that? He's wanted to, God knows, but sober it would never have happened. _They don't call it_ liquid courage _for nothing, buddy_. He washes off the blood and beer, and fumbles with the tap. He makes a half-assed attempt to dry himself off, and gives up. His hand is bleeding again, but he knows there's no way he has enough dexterity to work a bandage right now, so he gives up on that, too. He staggers into his bedroom, feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on. He collapses naked onto his bed, and closes his eyes, the room beginning to swirl. _Shit. Not this_. He opens his eyes, which are beginning to feel like someone may have pissed in them recently, and the room stills. _Damn it._

He needs sleep. He has work in a few hours, and he cannot show up like this. That thought leads him straight back to another…Kensi. He'd really kissed her. For real. Tongue and all. Had he groped her? He doesn't think so. Had she groped him? That would be nice, but he doesn't think that happened, either. She had kissed him back, though. For real. Tongue and all. Maybe he had groped her.

He rubs his hands over his face and wonders exactly what morning is going to feel like. How embarrassed and/or ashamed is he going to be when he sees her? How awkward will it be, and how long will it be awkward? And who else is going to notice not only his hangover, but the awkwardness and embarrassment? _Shit_. He's sobering up. He has to be, or none of this would matter. He could pass out in blissful apathy if he were slightly more intoxicated. And he has just the thing.

He peels himself off the bed, rubbing his stinging eyes, and staggers and sways his way into the kitchen. The lights are still on, and his blinds are wide open, and he's stark naked. It briefly crosses his mind to care, but he just can't pull it off. He grabs a fifth of Jack from the cabinet and tips back the bottle. Hmm. No fire in his throat. That's a good sign. For good measure, he throws back another long swig, and heads back to bed, hitting the light switch on the way.

He collapses again onto the bed and closes his eyes. They sting and water unmercifully, and he groans. The headache isn't improving, either. He hopes the booze kicks in soon and finishes him off. He has to pass out. He has to forget, as much as he doesn't want to. He'd love to remember that kiss for the rest of his life, and what it had felt like. But that would only cause problems he doesn't need. He prays he wakes up in a few hours with no recollection of tonight, and that his partner never brings it up.

She wouldn't? Would she? After all, she did kiss him back. Like she meant it. And she'd kissed him again before she'd left. Which means she _wanted_ to kiss him. Probably has, for quite a while. Surely, she won't embarrass herself by bringing it up. That would be about the most un-Kensi-like thing he could imagine. He knows she was betting on him blacking out. That's why she did it. No, she sure as hell won't remind him.

He feels the alcohol begin to pull him under, and he surrenders to it. Sweet dreams, as she had said. He imagines they will be, if he dreams at all. He's fading fast, hanging onto that memory for as long as he can.

Before he knows it, and all too soon, the alarm is going off.

It sounds like a cross between a jackhammer and an air raid siren. Has it ever been this loud before? He rolls over and swats it off the nightstand, groaning loudly at the pain in his head. Holy crap. How much did he drink? Work is not going to be fun.

He staggers to the bathroom to pee, and catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Blood smears his face and hair, and his eyes are so bloodshot and swollen, he looks like he's been beaten. Has he? Where did the blood come from? He doesn't remember a fight. His nose isn't broken. A quick check tells him all his teeth are still in his mouth. _What the hell? _

He showers, washing off the blood and realizing once soap hits it, exactly where the injury is. A nice, deep cut in his hand. _Great_. He struggles to remember what happened last night after he left work. Kensi wouldn't join him for a beer. She was pissed at him. Well, that made sense. Everything after that is a blank, though. He gets ready for work, swallowing Tylenol with strong coffee, hoping they both stay down.

Outside, to his surprise, there is no car. That's kind of a relief, actually. No one that drunk has any business behind the wheel. He thinks of calling Kensi, like he's done a dozen times before, but somehow thinks better of it. He isn't sure why.

On the way in to OSP, he hears a song on the radio in the cab that jars a memory. Last night in the bar. A blonde. Red lipstick. Kensi…_Herpes_? _What the hell?_ Little by little, it all comes back. Right up to the end, where she had eagerly returned his kiss in the parking lot, no holds barred, with full-on passion, then again sweetly at his door. _Holy shit_.

He isn't sure what to do, what to say, how to act. He was wasted. She was sober. She'll remember, but he's banking on the fact that she thinks he'll forget. Somehow, he wishes he could. Those kisses could change everything between them, and probably not in a good or positive way. _Shit_.

He walks into the Mission with the worst hangover of his adult life. His gut twists with nerves. His eyes sting, his head throbs, and he can only focus on one thing besides his physical discomfort. Those kisses. And okay, that dress makes an appearance in his head every other thought, too, but he tries really damned hard to stop it, because it's not helping any and he'd rather not fight off a hard-on all day.

She's at her desk, and as she watches him walk in, he's infinitely glad he still has his shades on. She laughs at him, but blessedly, she plays dumb. She actually asks what happened to him. _Oh, so this is how we're doing it. The It Never Happened dance. Got it_. Inwardly, he smiles. She's embarrassed and doesn't want him to remember. Cute. She had kissed him because clearly, she wanted to. She wanted to see what it was like, or to fulfill some fantasy, without any strings. Without getting caught or admitting she _has_ a fantasy. He may be able to capitalize on that once he feels better. _If_ he ever feels better.

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><p>She's at her desk, glancing at her watch. He's late. And not because his car is gone and he has no way in. He probably hasn't even realized that yet. A small smile plays across her lips. He's so hung over it would be a miracle if he even heard the alarm. She considers calling him to wake him up, because that would be normal. Just as she reaches for her phone, he shuffles in, sunglasses in place, coffee in hand. She bites her lip to keep from laughing. She's dying to ask how he got here, but that would mean she knows his car is still at the bar.<p>

"Wow. You look…"

He holds up a hand. "Shh."

"What happened to you?"

"Shh."

She laughs, though her stomach is filled with butterflies. How much does he remember? "Rough night?"

"Rough morning. I had to call a cab. I think I left my car at the bar last night and got a ride."

"Ah. Nice hangover. Sam and Callen are gonna love it."

He groans, dropping into his chair and laying his head on folded arms. "No," he whines. "Make the bad men go away."

She laughs again. "How much did you drink?"

"Obviously, _way_ too much."

Callen and Sam walk in and catch sight of Deeks. Both laugh, and Callen kicks his chair. "Jesus, Deeks. What the hell happened to you? I mean, yesterday was memorable, but you didn't have to celebrate quite so hard."

Kensi glares at him. News of her wardrobe malfunction had already made the rounds.

Deeks growls. "Funny. I'm dying here. Have some respect and leave me alone."

Sam looks at Kensi. "You have somethin' to do with this?"

She holds up both hands, a huge smile on her face. "Innocent. This is all him."

Deeks groans. "You are all _way_ too loud. And did we get new lights, because it's like the surface of the sun in here."

Eric whistles from above, causing Deeks to wince. "We've got a case."

"Ugh. Of course we do."

Kensi gets up and slaps him on the back on her way to the stairs. "Come on, partner. Time to start the day." She smiles as she sees him grimace and hold his head. As bad off as he is this morning, there's no way he remembers last night. She takes the stairs two at a time, feeling lighter, relieved beyond belief that she's completely off the hook.

* * *

><p>He struggles through the day, and even winds up chasing down and tackling a suspect to the ground without killing himself near the end of it. The hangover never quite goes away, though, and by quitting time, he just wants to die. His head still hurts, along with his ass, which is in fact bruised from his fall last night. He split his hand back open when he hit the pavement taking down their suspect a little while ago, and it hurts like hell.<p>

She's been eyeing him all day, covertly watching him from the corner of her eye. She obviously thinks he hasn't noticed. Sometimes, she actually looks guilty. It's kind of funny. Okay, it's really funny. Something he's never quite seen from her before. He decides he likes it. It's cute. And what's even better is the fact that she's been playing innocent all day, like nothing ever happened last night. He decides it's just too good to pass up. The question is _when_ does he nail her on it? And how?

She comes to his desk when things have settled down, and kneels beside him. "Hey, let me see your hand. It looks like you tore it open back there."

_Really? Seriously?_ "Actually, I woke up with it this way. I can't remember how I did it, though."

She looks a little flushed, a small smile tugging at her features. "Wow. Must have been some night. You get in a fight?"

_Wow_. "I have no idea. No bruises or anything. It's a mystery."

"Maybe you shouldn't drink so much, Deeks. You never know what might happen. You could do something you might really regret."

He can't help it. He laughs out loud, startling her. He thinks she looks a little worried. "And what might that be?"

She becomes unusually flustered. "Uh…you know. You could…get into a fight, or drive home drunk and have an accident."

"Yeah, you're right. Nothing clouds a person's judgment or kills their inhibitions like too much alcohol. I should know better, right?"

"I'm going to go get a bandage for this," she says, rising quickly and walking away.

_Bull's-eye._

He laughs to himself, watching her practically run from him. When she comes back, he decides to take mercy on her. "Wanna get a burger later?"

She avoids his eyes, clearly concentrating on the simple task of cleaning and bandaging his hand. "You could've probably used a couple stitches in this."

He shrugs. "Nah, I'm good. Nothing a Band-aid and a week won't fix. So, burgers?"

"Um…sure."

He smiles. "No beer, though. For me, anyway. You can have all you want. I'll even buy."

She looks at him suspiciously. "Why?"

"I don't know. I guess I just feel bad about yesterday…the dress and all. I shouldn't have stared. And I know I drove you nuts all day, too. Nervous energy, you know? Too much caffeine and sugar and not enough activity."

She looks mildly relieved. "Okay. You _were_ a pain in the ass all day."

He smiles. "Great, then. Let's get out of here."

* * *

><p>It's taken him two weeks, but he's gotten over his hangover and aversion to alcohol. The hangover was gone the next day. The idea of never drinking again, however, hung on a bit longer. Kensi is now back to her normal self, and isn't as nervous or on edge as she was in the few days following their little encounter at the bar. She obviously thinks he has no recollection of that night. And it's exactly what he wants her to think. He had nearly blown it near the end of last week though, when she had walked in wearing that same white top. He had felt his mouth drop open and the crotch of his jeans tighten uncomfortably as she had set a cup of coffee on his desk before moving to her own.<p>

Today, just over two weeks since their unmentioned encounter, he's decided to see if she'll come out for a drink with him. At his favorite bar. He'll never show his face there again, but he's dying to see if she'd actually let him humiliate himself that way. He's betting on no, but with Kensi, you can never tell. He's pretty sure she won't give up her little secret, no matter what. He may have been drunk, but she was stone sober. And that says a lot.

He'll have to be mindful of how much he drinks. He's already proven he has no self control around her when he's had a few too many. He wonders if she'd have the same problem. And then he gets an idea. Maybe he could get her drunk without getting drunk himself. Reverse the roles. Of course, he can't let her know he's staying sober. After the last time alcohol was added into the equation, they both behaved unlike themselves. Or maybe like their true selves. He wonders if history might repeat itself. He hopes so. Because if it does, this time he won't stop her at the front door.

* * *

><p>It's driving her mad. Two weeks have passed. Two whole weeks, and she still can't get that kiss out of her head. He's nearly caught her staring more than once, and she can't imagine how she'd explain herself if he did. Is it her imagination, or is he even more attractive now than he was just a few days ago? Yep, she's losing her mind.<p>

She sees him approach with a smile on his face, and unlike two weeks ago, it doesn't unsettle her. He has absolutely no recollection of what happened at the bar, or the heated kiss in the parking lot, or the one at his front door. Thank God.

"Hey, Kens. Wanna go get a beer?"

"Sure. Where do you have in mind?"

"The place I always go, unless you'd rather go somewhere else. I'm cool with whatever."

Her stomach lurches. Just because he doesn't remember it now, doesn't mean he won't when he drives into that parking lot. And she did manage to make everyone there think he has herpes. She can't let him go back there. "Um…how about somewhere else? At the beach, maybe."

He looks puzzled. "The beach?"

"Yeah. Why not? Something different, you know?"

"Uh…sure. Okay. Take two vehicles or drive together?"

Suddenly, she has an idea. "Let's take one home and drive one. One of us should be good to drive, but if not, it'll be easier to deal with one. At least one of us will have a car at home. If it's me, I'll pick you up in the morning, and if it's you, you can come get me."

"Or we can just sleep together."

Her heart nearly stops.

He laughs. "Joking. Totally joking. Sounds logical. Let's go."

She follows him out, her pulse pounding. She goes her separate way in the parking lot, meeting him back at his place after a shower and changing into her favorite jeans and the white top she wore to the bar that night. She'd seen the way his eyes popped when she walked in, and did her best to emulate that same look tonight. Same hair, same makeup. Different game plan. She's going to see how drunk she can get him, without getting herself drunk at all. She just won't let him know that. Where things might go from there is anybody's guess. But she knows what she's hoping for. And this time, it won't be quite so innocent.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks for all the great reviews! I appreciate them so much. By popular demand, this chapter is RATED M. Please heed the warning! That said...enjoy! And review if you feel moved to do so ;0)**

* * *

><p>She meets him at his place, where he's just gotten out of the shower. He answers the door with water dripping down his chest, dressed in only a white towel, and she nearly passes out. The contrast between his tan skin and that towel is nearly obscene.<p>

"Come on in. I'm almost ready. I would have been done sooner, but my old neighbor lady needed help with a light bulb, and wouldn't let me leave. She's sweet, but she's lonely and loves to talk. I'll be right back. Make yourself comfortable."

_So, I got to see you nearly naked because you were helping an old lady change a light bulb._ _This just gets better and better_. _There's nothing sexier than a kind, compassionate man. In a white towel. Dripping wet_. She shudders, and moves to the window to look out at the ocean. After a few minutes, she goes to the couch, where she picks up a surfing magazine and looks through it. She can't believe her eyes.

He walks into the room, now fully dressed.

"You're in here. In this magazine." She can't keep the awe out of her voice.

He shrugs. "Eh. They did a thing on local surfers in Santa Monica a few months back. I happened to be there."

"Wow. I'm actually impressed."

"Don't be. It wasn't that big a deal. Ready to go?"

_Was he really just humble? Is that even possible?_ She takes one more look at the picture of him riding a wave, the sun glistening off his wet skin. "Yeah, let's go."

He leads her out and they decide to take his car. If they wind up leaving a vehicle at the bar later, she'd rather it not be her very expensive SRX. She's sure he doesn't mind, but he gives her crap anyway.

"Mine wasn't free, either, you know."

"Yeah, but who's gonna steal a Malibu? A Cadillac stands more of a chance of being stolen. The Escalade is the most stolen vehicle in the United States."

"You don't drive an Escalade, there, Wikipedia."

She smiles. "No, but why take chances?" She loves pushing his buttons. It produces that smile she's so fond of. The one that says, _I want you to think you're annoying me, but really, I love this. _

They find a place on the beach and get a table. She figures if they're going to be here a while, they might as well get comfortable. He orders the first round – beers – and they settle in, making small talk, watching the ocean. She decides a few drinks won't hurt, and it'll keep him from getting suspicious. Besides, she knows he'll get up to pee soon, and then it'll be every ten minutes. When he does, she'll dump out her drink.

Since they're together, no one hits on either of them, which is nice for a change. No need for rescue tonight. She thinks about her plan, wonders if getting him smashed will have the same affect tonight as it did two weeks ago. She thinks of that kiss, and him in the white towel earlier, and warmth pools low in her belly.

"Ready for another?" he asks, smiling.

She's only had a few, and knows damn well she can hold her liquor, so she nods. She's no lightweight when it comes to alcohol. She's able drink Marines under the table, and has done so on more than one occasion. She may weigh next to nothing, but she metabolizes alcohol like crazy. She knocks back the fourth shot and orders another round, smiling.

"Whoa, princess. You don't want a hangover like the one I had a few weeks ago."

"What's the matter, Deeks? Can't keep up?" She smiles and downs the shot.

He laughs. "Not a chance. You cannot out drink me. I weigh more than you do."

She snorts. "Wanna bet?"

"Is that a challenge?"

She signals to the waitress for another. She throws it back, watching him do the same, a gleam in his eye. _What's that about?_ She's beginning to feel warm all over as the alcohol takes affect. She thinks it might be time to slow down. Deeks obviously has other plans. The waitress places another drink in front of her, and then him. He nods towards hers, encouraging her to drink it. _Uh oh_. She's buzzed. _Abort! Abort!_ This can't happen.

"I have to pee. I'll be right back," she says, getting up. She leaves the table and blessedly finds their waitress near the restroom, walking back to the bar. "Excuse me," she says, touching the woman's arm. "I have a strange favor to ask. My date wanted me to come out for a drink with him tonight, but I really don't want to drink anymore. I hate to make him think I'm no fun on our first date. Would you do me a favor? Bring him whatever he orders, but make mine water. Just don't let him know. I'll pay as if it were alcohol, and you keep the money."

The woman looks puzzled, then amused. "Okay. Sounds good to me." She laughs and goes on her way. Kensi comes back to the table a few minutes later to find Deeks with another drink in front of him, and one in her place as well. And he has a huge smile on his face.

* * *

><p>He hadn't missed the look on her face when he answered the door in just a towel. Or the look on her face when she stared at that picture of him in the magazine. And it was priceless. She'd totally given herself away. It had taken all he had not to do the same when he saw her in that low-cut little white top. With just a towel to hide him, and memories of a certain white dress swirling in his head, he'd had to make a fairly hasty retreat to the bedroom in order not to embarrass himself.<p>

She's been tossing back shots with no apparent sense of caution. And he's been keeping up with no problem. But he's beginning to feel the alcohol, and thinks maybe it's time to slow it down. Problem is, he doesn't want her to slow down. When she excuses herself to go to the ladies room, he sees the perfect opportunity.

Their waitress walks by, and he snags her. "Hey, I have a favor to ask. My girl wanted to come out tonight, but to be honest; I'm still recovering from a vicious hangover. I've had enough alcohol for tonight, but I don't want to make her think she has to stop along with me. Could you maybe just bring me water for the rest of the night, and bring her whatever drinks she orders. I'll pay for the alcohol. Just keep the money. Oh, and don't let her know I'm drinking water."

The woman laughs. "Uh…sure. Why not?"

He thanks her, promising an extra big tip. When Kensi comes back, she seems a bit smug, but he dismisses it as his imagination. He _is_ pretty buzzed. He hopes the water flushes some of the alcohol out of his system. He can't do anything stupid tonight. He may never get the chance to do this again.

His conscience pokes at him a bit. Should he really be trying to get his partner drunk so he can take advantage of her? When he thinks of it like that, he feels guilty. And scummy. But then he remembers that kiss in the parking lot, and how fervently she'd returned it, and the guilt goes away completely. She wants him. She's just too tightly wound to admit it while she's sober. Or when she thinks _he_ is. Just as well, he knows he'd never have the stones to admit it to her while sober, either. This, he decides, is the best way for them to both get what they want, with no awkward after effects the next day. If she's wasted and can't remember, there's no harm done to their partnership. He smiles.

"What?"

"Not a thing. Ready for another?"

"Sure. Bring it on." She nods, signaling the waitress.

Watching that devious smile, he can't help but think she's got a secret.

* * *

><p>She thinks maybe she overdid the shots earlier. And the beer. Her head is swimming slightly, and she feels dangerously off balance. She realizes, as they talk, that she's reaching to touch him more and more often. She also realizes he's not pulling away, or seeming to mind. In fact, he's been doing the same thing to her. His hand, she now discovers, is resting on her knee. When did his chair get this close?<p>

She isn't even sure what they've been talking about between drinks, and even though she's had several glasses of water disguised as alcohol, she isn't sobering up. She feels fairly certain, though, that Deeks is just as far gone as she is. He sure as hell wouldn't be touching her thigh if he wasn't. She wonders if he even realizes where his hand is. His blue eyes are slightly glassy, and he sways just a bit in his seat. _Hmm_.

"It's getting late. Should we get out of here?" he asks, his thumb stroking the inside of her thigh, about midway up now.

"Um…sure. Yeah. It's late. Should we call a cab, or are you good?"

He laughs. "I don't need to be driving. You?"

"Me, either. No way."

"Okay, then. You call a cab and I'll take care of our waitress."

She watches him get up, lightly squeezing her thigh first. He sways just a bit, righting himself before walking to the bar. She calls a cab, a smile on her face and her heart thundering in her ears. Good. She's not too drunk to lose her nervousness at the prospect of what may happen between them. That's a good sign. He seems far drunker than she is, and that's just perfect. If history is any indicator, he won't remember a thing. Just like last time. No harm, no foul, no awkwardness at work Monday morning.

"Get us a ride?" he says, smiling.

"Won't be here for forty-five minutes."

He appears to think for a moment, then smiles. "Nice night. Wanna walk on the beach while we wait?"

Romantic. Intimate. "Sure."

She follows him out and through the parking lot to the beach, where the moon is reflecting off the water. A light breeze blows, cooling the air. The deep sand is harder to navigate than she thought it would be, and she stumbles a bit.

He grabs her, keeping her upright. "Maybe no shoes."

"Yeah, good idea," she says, removing them, holding onto his arm for support. He feels good beneath her hand, and she suppresses a smile.

"I love the beach," he says, closing his eyes and breathing in the salt air.

"It has its merits, I suppose." She nudges him. "Like hot guys in swim trunks."

He shoves her playfully. "Don't make me throw you in that water."

"Might sober me up some."

He smiles. "You really that messed up?"

"I haven't been this drunk in a while," she says, trying to sell the cover. "I see a hangover in my future."

"Not fun, partner. Trust me."

"You won't have one? You drank as much as I did."

He shrugs. "Don't wanna think about it. Why ruin the buzz, right?"

"Right."

They walk for a while; stopping occasionally to pick up a shell or pebble that looks interesting in the moonlight. She wishes he'd just get on with it. She stops, staring out over the water. "It really is beautiful."

He moves closer, reaching to touch her cheek. "It is."

Her heart thunders, and her breath hitches at his touch. She looks up at him, hoping he wants her as much as she wants him. Hoping he's too drunk to really remember much come morning. Beginning not to care. She reaches up on tiptoes and brings her lips to his, kissing him softly before pulling back. And then he reaches for her, pulling her against him, covering her mouth with his. She sucks in a breath, and a tiny moan slips out. It seems to encourage him.

She circles his neck with her arms, her hand slipping up into the silky hair above his collar. She kisses him deeply, losing herself in him as he pulls her tighter. Visions of wet skin and white towels make their way into her head, and she presses herself harder against him.

He moans into her mouth, and she feels his hips rock forward. Through layers of denim, she feels him, hard against her. His hand slides down, and he tucks it into her back pocket, pulling her tighter against him.

She pulls away slightly, dizzy and breathless from the intoxicating mixture of him and the alcohol. "Um…the cab. We should go make sure we don't miss it."

"Yeah," he says breathlessly. "Is this…are we…?"

She kisses him again, her voice husky. "Uh, huh. As long as we can get a cab back to your place, we are."

He smiles, and takes her hand. "Let's go find that cab, then."

* * *

><p>He unlocks the front door and steps inside, leading her by the hand, catching the doorframe for support. He didn't mean to get this drunk, but there's not much he can do about it now. He just wishes he'd stop getting drunker the longer he's on his feet. This always happens. He's fine until he stands up. Then it hits him. Hard. And then again when he breathes fresh air.<p>

He can't screw this up. He can't pass out or get the spins or get sick and miss the opportunity presented him. She looks pretty comfortable. She doesn't seem the least bit apprehensive about being here, and after those kisses at the beach, and the ones in the cab, he's pretty certain that if he can just hold it together, she's his. And if she's drunk enough to lose her inhibitions this way, she surely won't remember a thing in the morning. Unless, of course, they wake up together, which could very well spell disaster. He hopes she's one of those hit and run kind of girls. He hopes - as much as he'd like to spend the night with her in his arms - that she just wants to go home to her own bed when it's over, and avoid the complication.

She drops her shoes on the floor beside the couch. She never had been able to get them back on at the beach, and he took that as a very good sign. She hasn't sobered up any since then, either. If anything, she's even more trashed than an hour ago. _Excellent._

"Come here," she says, reaching for him.

He closes the small distance, pushing her back against the front door, his hands tangling in her dark hair. He envelops her mouth with his and feels her lips part. Her tongue plays over his, making him crazy. Her hands are fisted in the front of his shirt, yanking him closer. He feels her breath grow ragged and feels her arms come around him, hands now slipping beneath the cotton of his shirt. He moans at the contact, breaking away to trail kisses down her neck. He kisses her pulse point, then bites softly, eliciting a deep moan.

Before he realizes it, she's pulling his shirt up and off, tossing it onto the living room floor. Her hands caress the bare skin of his back before moving to his chest. Her fingers ghost across his nipples, and he shudders. "Kens…"

She shuts him up with her mouth on his, kissing him deeply as she arches against him. He knows she can feel him, and he rocks his hips, giving her exactly what she seems to want so badly.

"Deeks…" It's more of a moan than his name. He slips his hands beneath her thin white shirt, stroking the smooth skin of her back. He finds the clasp of her bra and deftly unhooks it. His hands move to her ribcage, then to cup the swell of her breasts. His thumbs find her nipples, and she sucks in a gasping breath. He smiles against her neck, knowing that this is just the beginning.

* * *

><p>She never intended to get this drunk, but it's made quick work of her many inhibitions, so she goes with it. She lets him unclasp her bra. She savors the feel of his hands on her bare skin, inching ever closer to her breasts. Her heart beats wildly, her breath coming faster with each touch. His touch. The fact that it's him makes it even more erotic. She's wanted this – wanted him – for so long. And now it's reality. She feels him hard against her, feels his thumbs stroking her nipples, his impossibly hot tongue traveling down her neck. She moans his name, and he returns to her mouth, kissing her so passionately she loses her breath. And then, in one fluid motion, he relieves her of her top and bra, leaving her naked from the waist up, just like him.<p>

He kisses along her jaw, down to her throat, across her collarbones, and stops, just breathing against her incensed flesh. She feels herself tremble, waiting for what's next. And when his tongue, slick and wet, flicks across her nipple, she nearly passes out. Her hands tangle in his hair, and her head falls back. She feels the heat and electricity travel through her body and between her legs, and she whimpers when he bites softly and moves his mouth to her other breast, giving it the same attention.

He has to be able to feel her trembling. It's as though she could come apart. She wants him. She needs him. This is torture of the most exquisite type. He bends his head further, kissing down her belly to the waistband of her jeans. He undoes the button and slides the zipper down, exposing her white lace panties. And he moans.

He moves up to gaze into her eyes, his clouded and his voice throaty with passion. "Are you kidding?"

She knows he's having visions of wet white dresses and firm nipples straining through thin fabric. She knows he's imagining her body, wet and nearly naked in front of him. She smiles seductively. "What's wrong with white?" she whispers.

He groans, pulling her toward his bedroom. "So many things."

She allows him lead her to the bed, where he stops and just looks at her. A dozen things flash across his face. Some she recognizes. Lust, passion, want. Guilt? Just for a brief second? Then want again. He takes her hips and pulls her to him, wrapping his arms around her. She moans at the first contact of her bare skin against his. She reaches down to unbutton his jeans, and at the same time, he slides his hands inside hers to slip them down her legs, leaving the panties in place.

He pulls back and takes her in, and she watches his mouth fall open at the sight of the only thing left covering her. A tiny, lacy white thong. She swears she sees his pupils dilate.

"Oh, partner. That's not fair at all. No one should look like that. It shouldn't even be possible. Or legal. Or…"

"You could always take them off," she whispers, stepping closer.

She sees him swallow before he reaches for her. "I don't think that's gonna help."

She smiles against his lips. "Worth a try, though?"

He closes his eyes. "Uh, huh." He kisses her, sliding his hands down her back, over the swell of her cheeks to cup them in his hands and pull her to him.

She moans at the feel of him, then finishes with his zipper, slipping off his jeans and leaving his boxers. "Yours aren't white," she whispers with mock disappointment.

"Then get rid of them," he breathes against her mouth.

She does, sliding them down his legs. They hit the floor with his jeans and hers, and he steps out of them, kicking them away. She takes in his naked body, something she never imagined she'd see. And she's infinitely impressed. She catalogues every freckle and scar, committing to memory the shape of his hips, the texture of his hair, the smell of his skin. She wonders how long that memory will last.

He pushes her onto the bed, covering her body with his. She feels his breath on her neck, his lips traveling across her pulse, down her shoulder, to her breasts. She shudders at the feel of him - all of him - stretched out on top of her. It takes every bit of resolve she has not to move her legs apart and grab him.

He takes his time, making her insane with every new sensation he brings. Her chest heaves as he sucks and nibbles his way south, tugging at her belly ring with his teeth as he moves past it. By the time she feels his tongue slip within her, first dancing over the swollen little knot of nerves, she can't breathe. Rational thought is gone. She can't even think in English anymore.

She tangles her hands in his hair, practically crying his name. He isn't dissuaded or slowed down, and he brings her to climax so easily, it should be embarrassing. _Thank God that rational thought thing is gone. _

He kisses his way back up, again taking his time. It's agony. She wants him. Desperately. But first, she wants him to feel every sensation he's given her. She pushes him off her, and onto his back. She traces light circles along his chest as she kisses him, nibbling along his jaw line and down his neck. She licks at his nipples, and he whimpers. She sucks and bites her way downward, feeling him tense and gasp, his hands all over her. And as she kisses and nibbles her way past his belly button, she feels him go completely still, holding his breath.

He gasps and grabs handfuls of her hair as she takes him into her mouth. She works him slowly, listening to his breath increase, moans slipping out with each increasing stroke. As she quickens the rhythm, he tightens his fists in her hair and pulls her up.

"Stop," he pants. "You have to stop."

She smiles. "What if I don't want to? You didn't."

"As drunk as I am right now, I can't make any promises, Kensi. And I want you. God, I want you." He kisses her. "That's why."

She kisses him with increasing passion, feeling him roll her onto her back. He moves her knees apart with his, and pulls back, kissing her neck again, driving her mad. "Deeks…please."

He returns to her mouth, where he slows down, kissing her tenderly. He pulls back a bit and looks into her eyes. "Tell me what you want."

She feels him pressing lightly against her, teasing her unmercifully. She can barely breathe. She can't think. "You," she rasps out. "You, Deeks. Please."

He kisses her again, a deep sensuous, passionate kiss that leaves her aching and completely senseless. Then she feels him push inside her, and she throws her head back into the pillow, digging her nails in his shoulders, arching into him, driving him deeper. She hears him moan, hears her name, feels him establish a rhythm that completely robs her of any self-control. She joins him in it, feeling the muscles of his back flex and strain beneath her palms, hearing his ragged breath and her own whimpers as he thrusts into her for long minutes.

He's moaning, kissing her hard, his tongue invading her mouth. He pulls back, kissing her neck, practically panting. She knows he's close, knows he's had nearly all he can handle, and she's in that very same place. He keeps up the long, deep thrusts, his breath coming in ragged gasps. And it's driving her dangerously close.

"Deeks…oh, God."

"Kens…"

She feels him begin to throb, and it pushes her completely over the edge. Wave after wave roll through her, making her cry out and clutch at him, nearly screaming his name.

He groans, thrusting hard, finishing her off. And then she hears her name spoken almost desperately as he shudders, pulsing within her. He collapses, his face buried in her neck. His breath is ragged and shallow, and his body trembles along with hers, as she rides out the aftershocks with him.

Once they've come down a bit, he rolls off of her, pulling her onto his chest. They're both slick with sweat, and she feels him pull a blanket over them. She wants to fall asleep. Right here in his bed, in his arms. She's exhausted, satisfied, and ridiculously drunk. Then a sudden, painful thought hits her. _I'll never remember this_. _And neither will he._

* * *

><p>He lays there panting, breathing in the scent of her perfume at her pulse. He can't seem to regulate his heartbeat. He thinks he needs to get off of her. Surely he's crushing her, but his muscles no longer want to work. He has every suspicion it isn't the alcohol.<p>

He finally rolls off of her and pulls her onto his chest. She's as sweaty as he is, and he covers them before they get cold. Suddenly, he wants this moment to last. He doesn't think she'll remember a second of it, and he wants her for just a little longer. She's so quiet. Then he thinks he feels her tremble.

"Kens, you okay?"

She nods, and he wonders what she's thinking. He knows he needs to get her out of here before they fall asleep. If they wake up like this tomorrow, things will never be the same between them. Who knows what might happen?

He lays there listening to her breathe, stroking the soft, warm skin of her back. He breathes her in and kisses the top of her head. Suddenly, he doesn't want her to leave. He doesn't want to forget this. He can't. The thought of it kills him.

"Kensi?"

"Yeah?"

"Will you stay?"

She's quiet for a while, making him dread her answer. "What if we wake up like this tomorrow and have no idea what we did?"

He smiles. "That…that was the plan."

She looks up at him. "Excuse me? The plan?"

"Yeah. I…after that night at the bar…"

Her dark eyes widen. "The bar? You…_remember_ the night at the bar? All of it?"

He bites his lip. _Damn it_. "Yeah. I'm sorry. I didn't want you to feel awkward about it."

She smiles. "But you thought if you got me drunk, maybe I'd sleep with you and not remember it?"

He feels himself flush. "Uh…yeah."

"That's really devious, Deeks."

"I'm sorry, Kens, really. I…"

She laughs.

He's lost. _What the hell is going on?_ "What?"

She smiles widely. "I had the same plan," she says, stretching up to kiss him. "I figured if you didn't remember, I wouldn't be embarrassed."

"Wow, and I thought I was devious."

"Maybe we're more alike than we thought."

He sobers, and stares down into her eyes, his voice husky. "I don't think I want to forget."

She looks at him for a moment, her lip caught between her teeth. "I don't think I want to, either."

He smiles softly, a weight lifted off his chest. "Stay?"

She looks worried. "What about tomorrow?"

He shrugs, kissing her forehead. "We'll figure it out then?"

She laughs and leans up to kiss him. "Well, that should be interesting."

He laughs along with her, holding her close. _That it should be, partner_. _That it should be_.


	4. Chapter 4

**Wow, what an amazing response to this! I can't believe the reviews, the alerts, and favorites. Thank you all so much. This is the final chapter in what was only meant to be one in the first place. You wanted more, so I went for it. I'm glad everyone has enjoyed it so far, and hope you like this last installment just as much. By the way, it too, is RATED M, so be warned. Thanks for any reviews you may give. Enjoy!**

* * *

><p>He lies with her in his arms, fighting sleep. His head swims, and he's reminded just how much he actually drank before he came up with the water idea. A small smile tugs at his lips as he thinks of what she confessed to a little while ago. She'd planned to get him drunk and into bed. He can't even be pissed. It was, after all, the same plan he'd had for her. Neither had planned to get as wrecked as they are, though. Epic fail. Hangovers all around tomorrow.<p>

_Tomorrow_. Only hours away, hiding on the other side of the sunrise. He eases her off his chest and props himself up on one elbow to watch her sleep. God, she's incredible. Hot and sexy and beautiful and just as devious as he is. But she's Kensi, and she's not like other women. She'd said she wants to remember this night, but somewhere he knows come morning, she might feel differently. Embarrassed. Ashamed. Angry. He thinks it might just wreck the partnership they've worked so hard to form. The friendship he so cherishes. It might make things awkward or tense. It might make her look at him differently. Maybe not in a good way. His chest hurts at the thought of losing her over this.

He takes in a deep breath and blows it out, staring up at the ceiling. He listens to her breathe, and remembers what her breath had sounded like only an hour ago, under far different circumstances. He thinks of her smell and her taste and the way she felt. The sounds she had made. No, he'll never quite see her the same way again. And he knows it will likely be the same for her.

He gets up, careful not to wake her, and finds his clothes on the floor. He dresses and goes quietly into the living room to find his discarded shirt and hers. He brings her things back into the bedroom and lays them on the bed where she can easily find them come morning, if she wants to run. Then he grabs an extra pillow and blanket, and heads for the couch.

* * *

><p>She feels the mattress dip and hears him shuffle out of the room. He's back in a moment, but not for long. She hears the closet open, then close, and he walks back out again. When he doesn't come back, she rolls over and looks around. Her clothes are folded on the bed beside her, where he had been only minutes ago. She sits up and takes a breath. What will this night do to them? How will they face each other in the morning?<p>

They've worked so hard to get where they are in their partnership. Their friendship. She prays this wasn't a mistake. Somehow, she knows that it was. And it kills her. They each set a trap for the other, and willingly walked right into it. She doesn't regret it. Not at all. And she doesn't want to forget what happened between them, either. But she thinks it's probably for the best if she does.

She takes in a deep breath. She smells him on her. She tastes him. She wishes he'd stayed in bed with her. Maybe he feels differently than she does. Maybe he regrets it already. She grabs her clothes and dresses quietly, making his bed the way they'd found it, before padding out into the living room, where he's snoring softly on the couch. She sneaks out the front door, closing it softly behind her.

She calls a cab and retrieves his Malibu from the bar, bringing it back to it's normal parking spot in front of his building. Then she returns his keys to the kitchen counter beside his wallet and badge, where she knows he keeps them. She watches him for a moment, fighting the urge to kiss him one more time before silently slipping back out the door.

* * *

><p>Light settles on his eyelids, making him throw an arm over them. His elbow hits something, and he pokes at it. What the hell? He cracks open his eyes and sees the back of the couch. He struggles to remember why he's here and not in bed. He sits up, and his head pounds. <em>Damn it. Another hangover? Really?<em> This wasn't supposed to happen. He was supposed to stay sober last night. Sitting up, he realizes he's fully dressed in what he wore out last night. He looks around. He's alone. He gets up, fighting the pain in his head. He checks his bedroom, half expecting her to be there. She isn't, and his bed hasn't been touched. _Damn._

He uses the bathroom and drinks a bottle of water, then looks outside to see if her car is here. It isn't where she usually parks. But his car is in its normal space. Hadn't they called a cab? Was she even here last night? He remembers walking on the beach. After that, it gets blurry. Had they made out? Did he dream it?

He takes some Tylenol and drinks a bottle of Gatorade, before sitting down on his bed. What the hell? Did he really screw things up so badly last night between the bar and the beach that she went home? God, he wishes he could remember. He decides that surfing will clear his mind and help diminish the hangover, and dresses in his board shorts and rash guard and grabs his board. He drives to the beach and gets out, feeling a strange sense of intimacy and fondness as he steps onto the sand.

He walks to the water, trying to remember what happened on the beach last night. He thinks they kissed. Passionately. He vaguely remembers walking along the tide line with her, stopping to look out over the water. He had kissed her, right? _Damn it_. He wishes he could either remember it all or forget everything. He wonders what she remembers.

He surfs for a few hours, wearing himself out, working off the hangover. He thinks of calling her when he gets back to his apartment, but thinks better of it. She hasn't called him, and he wonders if she's still asleep, hung over, or pissed. Or maybe, she just doesn't remember either.

He expects to hear from her at some point over the weekend, but doesn't. Not a word. He doesn't like it, but he goes with it. He just hopes he didn't make a complete ass of himself Friday night. He has his suspicions, and it wouldn't be the first time, but he can hope. He just prays that whatever he did, it hasn't destroyed what he has with her.

* * *

><p>She had made her way home carefully, knowing she had no business behind the wheel. At home, she shed her clothes and took a long, hot shower, rinsing the remainders of the two of them off her body, and feeling slightly sad as she did so. No evidence, no reminders of a couple of hours ago. If she remembers, she remembers. But if she doesn't, she needs nothing to jar her memory in the morning.<p>

She had climbed into bed, exhausted and depressed. Alcohol always does that to her in the end. She had thought falling asleep in his arms would probably have prevented it. It would have caused a whole host of other problems, though, so in the end, she closed her eyes and fell asleep alone.

She woke up groggy and hung over, her head pounding. She was queasy and sore all over, and had little recollection of the night before. And somehow, it was surprising that she was in her own bed, alone. Hadn't she gone out with Deeks? Yes, she had. They had gone to a bar on the beach and gotten hammered. She vaguely remembered a walk on the beach while waiting for a cab. She kind of remembered kissing him. Didn't she? After that, it all got really out of focus, and she had no idea what was real and what might have been a dream. And it was all very disconcerting.

She never heard a word from him all weekend, which is odd. At some point, he usually comes by or calls to see if she wants to go for breakfast somewhere. He'll show up with take-out and watch TV with her, teasing her unmercifully about her choices in entertainment. But not this weekend.

She wonders if something happened to upset him. What did she do? What didn't she do? And what's going to happen when she sees him tomorrow? The thought is unsettling. Clearly, something happened between them. She knows what she had planned, but no idea if he fell for it, or if she followed through. _Damn it._ She has no idea what she'll be facing in the morning, but she's pretty sure it isn't good.

* * *

><p>He got up early Monday, unable to sleep worth a damn anyway, and headed out for a surf as the sun came up. He'd sat on his board, trying to figure it all out. He stared at the shoreline and struggled to remember Friday night. Hadn't he kissed her on the beach? He couldn't honestly say. And it's driving him nuts.<p>

He comes back and showers, then dresses for work. He decides to err on the side of caution and stop for coffee at Starbucks before going in. He gets her favorite, and then hits the drive thru of her favorite donut place, too, hoping for redemption. From what, he has no clear idea. He sucks in a deep breath before walking in, his heart kicking up at the sight of her SRX out front. Little things flash through his head, but he isn't sure if they're memories or dreams, and he decides it's best to ignore them.

Inside, he sees her desk empty. She's probably in the gym, working out, and he wonders if he should approach her, or just leave the peace offerings – if that's what they need to be – on her desk. He decides to leave them there and man-up. He takes a deep breath and walks into the gym, doing his best to act normal. She's on the treadmill, running at an exhausting pace. He wonders what she's trying to outrun.

"Hey, Kens. Coffee and donuts are on your desk."

She glances over her shoulder at him. "Oh. Okay. Uh…what's the occasion?"

"Um…apology for the hangover you probably had Saturday morning?"

"Yeah, it was miserable. You?"

"It sucked. Nothing a day of surfing and some Tylenol didn't cure, though."

She continues her workout, running hard. "I'll be done in bit."

"Okay. Have fun." He watches her for a moment, her dark ponytail brushing back and forth with the rhythm of her feet hitting the treadmill. He refuses to let himself look any lower. He turns and goes back to his desk, not unaware of the fact that they've yet to make eye contact.

Thirty minutes later, she slinks to her desk, still clearly avoiding his eyes. Does she remember something he doesn't? God, he wants to remember.

Towards the end of the day, things seem almost normal between them. The odd awkwardness of this morning is basically gone, and she's back to being herself again. Maybe he had imagined it. Maybe it was his own guilty conscience. He follows her upstairs to talk to Eric just before quitting time, only a step or two behind her, and catches the scent of her perfume. The same perfume she wore Friday night. His breath hitches, as a flood of memories besiege him. The bar, the beach, the cab. His apartment. _Oh, my God_. He remembers everything. Every mind-blowing detail, in living color. White panties, naked skin, breathless kisses. And everything to follow.

He watches her from the corner of his eye, his heart slamming against his ribs. He fights the heat creeping up his neck, and the involuntary swelling inside his jeans. He has no idea what Eric is saying, nor does he care. He wouldn't care if they got clearance to test missiles in the bullpen right now. Naked. Nothing else matters but Friday night.

He remembers the aftermath, holding her in his arms, bathed in her sweat and his, feeling her fingers moving in small circles across his chest, as his heart slowed. He remembers his confession to her, and hers to him. He remembers not wanting to forget.

It was the most intense night of his life. Nothing and no one compares to what he experienced with her. His partner. He rakes a hand through his hair, wondering how he'll ever put this behind him. Part of him knows he can't. A bigger part doesn't even want to. It wants what they don't have, what may not even be possible between them. He wants her. Over and over and over, for as long as she's willing to have him.

"You okay, Deeks?"

_Shit_. "Uh, yeah. Good. I'm good."

She smiles. "You sure? Because you look a little lost right now. And kind of unsettled."

He shakes his head. "No, I'm good, really."

"Okay," she says. She says goodbye to Eric, and turns to leave. "Hey, thanks for the coffee and donuts this morning. I'll buy next time."

"Sounds good. You out of here now?" He follows her out and down the stairs, breathing in the scent of her perfume. He swears it makes him a little drunk.

"Nah, I'm gonna hit the firing range, then I have paperwork to finish. You?"

"Yeah, I think I'll hit the beach. See what the waves are like." He watches her to see if the beach reference does anything to her_._

"Okay. Have fun. See you tomorrow."

_Nothing. Not one thing. Damn. _"Yeah, see you tomorrow, Kens."

He watches her head for the firing range, feeling strangely empty. He won. He got away with it. He got her drunk, got her in bed, and she doesn't remember a single moment. He should be doing a victory dance. Instead, he just feels hollow.

He sits down at his desk, contemplating. She's his partner. She's his friend. Things are fine the way they are, without complications. She doesn't remember what he does, and she doesn't need to. She's happy the way things are between them. She did confess she wanted to sleep with him, but it doesn't mean she won't regret the decision. He doesn't want her to regret it. It would kill him. He gets up and throws a longing glance toward the firing range, and walks out of the Mission.

* * *

><p>He was acting strange this morning, and then again this evening. She has no idea what's going through his mind, unless he knows something she doesn't. Which is entirely possible. And scary. He's not the type of man to keep a secret like that. If something had happened between them Friday night, he would surely be teasing the hell out of her about it. About her lack of self-control, her inability to hold her liquor. But he hasn't said a word. She finishes up in the firing range, then heads to her desk to tackle the paperwork Hetty's been bugging her about. God, she hates paperwork.<p>

She's been at it for about an hour, focusing her attention fully on the file on her desk. She isn't tuned-in to her surroundings, isn't on guard, because she's at work and she's safe. No need to be hyperaware of what's around her. So when she feels warm breath, then soft, warm lips at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, she sucks in a startled breath. Then shivers. His lips and tongue ply her neck, sending tremors down her warm breath tickles her ear as he whispers against it. "Tell me you remember."

She closes her eyes. She does. Suddenly, her head fills with images of white towels and wet skin, hot kisses on the chilly beach, even hotter kisses in the cab, and unspeakably hot kisses in unspeakable places at his apartment. _Oh, my God._

"Please tell me you remember."

He hasn't stopped kissing her neck, biting it softly, trailing his tongue to her shoulder. She feels him move her hair, and breathe against the back of her neck. She trembles beneath his lips, and she feels him smile.

"You do, don't you?"

She can't quite make her voice work, so she nods, her breath shallow.

She feels him swivel her chair to face him. "Thank God," he says, bringing his lips to hers. He kisses her softly, with increasing passion, until she's clutching at him, breathless with shared memories and hot, wet kisses.

She opens her eyes and looks into his, and sees the passion and want she saw Friday night at his apartment. Her heart beats like crazy, and she feels oxygen deprived. "Deeks…."

He kisses her again, his hands tangling in her hair. They're the only two people here right now, so she doesn't stop him, doesn't even make him slow down. She lets him kiss her and whisper to her and touch her longingly, achingly, until she wants to scream.

He pulls her up out of the chair, and does a one-eighty to sit down in it. She's pulled down, straddling his lap, feeling his hands grasp her hips. He pulls her against him, and she sucks in a breath at what she feels pressing hard against her in just the right spot. Her mind screams that they're at work, but she just can't make herself care. He's slipping his hands beneath her shirt, caressing her back, fingers playing over the clasp of her bra.

And that does it.

"Deeks…"

"Please don't make me stop," he whispers, sucking lightly on her pulse point.

She moans, fighting to think clearly. It's not happening. "God…"

"Don't make me stop."

"We…we're at work. We…"

"Uh, huh. There's a nice, soft mat in the gym, too."

She shakes her head, fighting for control she just can't seem to get. "Not here."

"Why? We're alone."

_Good question_. "Um…" She can't think with his hands slipping beneath her bra, and his thumbs ghosting over her nipples. "Deeks…"

"There's no one else here, Kens. Just us."

His tongue makes its way into her mouth, robbing her of what little logic and common sense she has left. She feels him push her off him and lead her toward the gym, stopping to kiss her and whisper seductive promises of things to come. And suddenly, where they are just doesn't matter anymore.

* * *

><p>He hits the lights inside the gym, leaving it bathed only in the pale light creeping in from other rooms. He can't keep his hands or his mouth off of her, and though he realizes this is probably a bad idea all around, he just can't stop himself. True, they're the only ones here, but anyone could come back and catch them. He tells himself it isn't likely, and prays that he's right.<p>

He wants her. He's sober and fully aware of what's happening between them, and what's going to happen. He feels everything acutely, and though this isn't the first time they've done this, he can't help but think it sort of is. After all, they were both wasted the last time it happened. Alcohol is a great anesthetic, and as good as it was last time, he cannot even imagine what it's going to feel like sober.

He strips off his shirt, then hers. She doesn't even attempt to fight him on it. In fact, she's unbuttoning his jeans, slipping them and his boxers down over his hips before he even finishes. He kicks off his shoes and socks, and gets rid of the jeans pooled around his ankles. And then he moves on to hers. He's fairly certain that if she's wearing white underwear, he'll die. Lucky for him, they're black.

He finishes undressing her, and pulls her into his arms, kissing her deeply. Her hands are all over him, tangling in his hair, skimming over his hot skin, and finally wrapping around the length of him. He sucks in a gasping breath, his head falling back. She strokes him, kissing his neck, biting at it, making him moan her name. He can't take it. He catches the back of her knee with his heel, taking her down slowly onto the mat. He feels her legs move apart beneath him, and her hand, guiding him home.

He draws back and looks into her eyes, heavy-lidded with passion, and strokes back her hair. "You can say no this time. There's no alcohol clouding your judgment."

"Why would I want to do that?" she whispers breathlessly.

"I don't know. Regrets, maybe?"

She pulls him to her. "I don't have any regrets, partner."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

He envelops her mouth with his, and feels the rush of her breath and the bite of her nails as he thrusts into her. And she feels even more incredible that he remembers. Yes, this is definitely even better sober. She thrusts her hips upward, driving him deeper, panting, whimpering, moaning his name. The sound of it echoes off the walls of the gym, bouncing back, surrounding him. He feels her tighten and tremble, knows she's close, and thrusts hard, sending her careening over the edge.

Before she even comes back down, she's pushing him onto the mat, flat on his back, her body sheathing him. She moves rhythmically, and his body answers hers. He grasps her hips and thrusts upwards, finding the tempo that quickly ends them both, making them a trembling, panting heap of boneless nothingness on the floor.

The sound of their ragged breaths echo through the gym, eventually making them aware of where they are. She sits up, tracing a finger across his lips. He tangles his hand in the hair at the back of her head and draws her down for a long, slow kiss.

When she finally pulls back, she stares down into his eyes. "Are we gonna be okay, partner?"

He smiles, stroking the hair from her face. "I think we're gonna be just fine."

"No regrets?"

"None."

"Good. Now, can we get out of here before someone catches us?"

"Not just yet." He pulls her back down for another long kiss, then smiles. "Do you think you'll remember it this time?"

She smiles back, running a finger down his chest. "If I don't, you can always remind me."

**End**


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